Roughin' It
by applesNatheists
Summary: Myka could never complain that Helena wasted time, even stranded in the middle of goddamn no where.


My addition to Pornathon 2012 on Tumblr. Be warned: this is more of an experiment in writing styles than anything else, something I noticed I was doing and decided to roll with. It is likely not to everyone's taste, I am not a hundred percent about it myself. I would love to hear any opinions good or bad.

To kloperslegend my amazing, sweet, slightly narcissistic internet wife who spoils me and encourages me to try new things.

Thanks to Tazrider for her thoughts and advice.

Disclaimers: I own nothing. Especially none of the characters on Warehouse 13, which is clearly owned by Syfy.

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Roughin' It

"Pete! How can you run out of gas? Don't you pay attention to anything?"

"Hey it's not my fault that the GPS broke down and somebody decided it would be a good idea to let the centurion navigate."

"It's centenarian, technically –"

"Don't blame this on me, Peter. I told you to stop at the last town, but you were certain we would make it to our destination safely."

"And we would've if you hadn't-"

"Okay! Enough! Just, Pete, you have to go back to that town and get gas."

"Why me? Why can't-" He quails under the glare Myka shoots him.

"Okay fine. I'll be back." He stalks off down the road, muttering angrily to himself, words like women and directions filtering back to where Myka and Helena lean against the car.

"Well, at least it's a lovely view."

Myka looks out at the lush green forest stretching out before them; golden sunlight barely penetrates the treetops. She breathes deeply, the smell of moss and dirt filling her nose.

"It is beautiful out here isn't it?"

"It is, but I wasn't talking about the scenery darling."

Myka blushes. "Now really isn't the time or place, is it, Helena?"

"I think here and now is the perfect time and place."

She grabs Myka's wrist suddenly and pulls her toward the tree line.

"Helena, stop." But Myka's laughter negates her words.

Once safely shielded from the road Helena pulls Myka into a kiss. It is unhurried, their lips move lazily, hands caress backs and insinuate themselves into hair. They remain like that for several minutes until a wayward hand inches under the edge of a shirt, causing an intake of breath as fingers play against the hollow of a hipbone then reach around to grasp a hip firmly, kneading the soft skin. Heat spreads out from the point of contact, travelling up a neck and flooding cheeks.

Their lips move with purpose now, tongues and teeth fighting for sovereignty. The hand gripping curved flesh maneuvers them both until they stand beneath a large cottonwood. Still maintaining her hold, she spins the other woman to face the tree. Placing a hand on the middle of a back, she pushes until arms reach out to support their weight. The hand wanders from her hip reaching up to squeeze a full breast, grazing over swollen peaks. A sigh escapes parted lips, followed quickly by a deep growl as fingers push inside underwear and find waiting moisture. Cries ring out as slick folds separate beneath probing touches; subtle rocking commences.

Teeth and lips press against the column of a neck eliciting soft entreaties for more, to go faster, to not stop, never stop. Acquiescing to these pleas, trousers are dragged down, and arms brace themselves for anticipated exertion. It is not enough because elbows buckle when fingers slip deeply inside. The cries are no longer soft, movements no longer subtle. Fingers slide home over and over and liquid runs down thighs.

Secure in the knowledge of complete isolation, the woman's cries are loud and uninhibited. The exquisite feelings of pleasure chase everything from her mind. Her world becomes those fingers, heated mouth, and grasping hands. An idle hand moves down to work in tandem with the thrusting one, applying pressure, and hips respond violently. A name reverberates through the air and arms give out completely, sending the women crashing into the tree. Neither notice, one consumed by the waves of bliss rolling through her and the other focused solely on the trembling, contracting body beneath her hands and mouth. Eventually, breathing slows and consciousness returns. A woman shifts and cries out as oversensitive nipples brush against rough bark. She reassembles her clothing with shaking hands.

With a surprised yell, the other woman finds herself turned, back pushed up against the tree, as hands and mouth assault her senses. She moans loudly, throwing back her head and curving into eager hands. Her shirt is pulled open, bra thrust aside, a mouth descends on puckered flesh. Hips rise up from the tree and hands close around a wrist, tugging it downward. A smile stretches around a rigid nipple but the limb resists coaxing. She instead flattens insistent hands against coarse wood, holding firmly until they still then brushes fingertips along forearms, trails of fire on skin, and hands wrap around ribs, pressing her flush against the tree.

Head lowering, stomach muscles quiver beneath lips and she kneels on soft grass. Pausing at denim, she searches feverish eyes. A head drops forward, hair falling in waves and she watches. As a zipper is drawn down, and pants are tugged to mid-thigh, the feel of tree bark rough against skin. As a tongue darts out to taste the moisture that has soaked through underwear, cotton pushing into her and scratching sensitive flesh, but the heat from the tongue radiates through her body causing knees to weaken. They hold, but just barely. Green eyes meet brown and it's difficult to tell them apart so dark are they with desire. To touch and be touched, taste and be tasted.

Fingers run smoothly down hourglass curves and hook beneath fabric, extricating it from swollen flesh. Lips hover centimeters away, breath caressing skin, and they marinate in anticipation, neither willing to cede control. Then a tongue slowly drags along damp skin, and control is relinquished and acquired in one movement as fingers knot in hair and a face is wrenched forward into aching need. And there is nothing tender or restricted about their motions now. It is grinding and plunging and nails digging into scalp.

Deities' names mix with curses and if any are in the woods, their name is among them. Breath is denied them both but they proceed heedlessly, arousal etched into the taut lines of their bodies. A hand reaches around to grasp an ass, digging into firm flesh and pulling her closer. Fingers displace tongue, which moves higher to circle roughly against overcharged nerves sending electricity through the woman who is moaning, sobbing, gasping. Her hips move ceaselessly, mindlessly fucking her girlfriend's face. Thighs tense and she tightens her grip, yanking backward until she can look into hungry eyes. Fingers surge faster, curling inward, clit sucked between hollowed lips, and she convulses as a scream leaves her chest and her free hand claws into bark to keep herself upright.

The forest seems hushed now that their cries have abated, and they stay locked together for several long minutes, silence punctuated by occasional gasps as they replenish the oxygen to their bloodstream. Finally, hair is released and fingers slip remorsefully from warmth. Kisses reverse their earlier trek over heated flesh until they press onto parted lips. They take their time tasting each other, hands sliding gently over exposed skin, calming the nerves.

When hands move down to caress a backside, she pulls away wincing. Turning her around, the other woman draws in a deep breath, abrasions crisscross her lower back and butt. Reaching out to examine them, she is shocked to discover her hand is similarly marked. Chuckling softly, she reaches down to help pull up the pants, arranging them as carefully as she can. She presses a kiss to the side of a neck before reaching down to link injured hands. They are too sated to offer any more than satisfied smiles so their walk back to the car is silent.

When Pete returns, they are reclining against the car talking lazily and enjoying the sunshine.

"Hey, hey. Look who's back! The conquering hero has come to save the day with a fresh can of gasoline."

"Yeah, the conquering hero who ran out of gas in the first place." Myka said, examining her hand carefully.

"We would've had enough gas if it wasn't for Grandma over here getting us lost."

"Pete! Don't – "

"It's quite alright darling; I'm more than able to stand up for myself, especially against a man child who can't read a fuel gauge."

"Whatever you – hey what's wrong with your hand H.G.?"

"Nothing that concerns you darling. Now may we get going? I'd like to get back to the B&B before nightfall." The women share an amused look before getting into the car and leaving Pete to deal with the gas tank.


End file.
